Ancient Mariner

Crackers

This is a strange title for my first blog in months. It is not about the ring-billed gull named Cracker (nor his sidekick Three Dollar Bill) who eats crackers out of our hand from December to February while we sit on our seawall (Nabisco, please take note).

It is about my dear friend Calusa. She is a middle-aged yellow lab, and for several years she has sent me birthday cards and other tokens of her regard for me. Part of our relationship consists of me giving her a single cracker every time we meet. Not more than one per agreement with her owners, Ted and Judy Fitzsimons.

After a long and courageous battle with diabetes, Ted succumbed to the disease a couple of months ago. Judy and Calusa still come often to observe the sunset, and Ted's spirit is never far away.

But Calusa is taking Ted's absence very hard. She obviously knows nothing specific about death, although during  hospital moments Calusa was permitted to be on the bed with her master to whom she was devoted. She clearly can't understand why Ted isn't here to ride in his golf cart to expewrience the sunset with all of us.

Night before last Judy told us that Calusa is having some internal problems (along with depression), and part of the cure may  involve a diet that forbids crackers, not a single one. This is not yet firm, so tonight when I go out to watch the sunset I will have a cracker with me, just in case.

But there is a bigger issue here. Given her sorrow about missing Ted, is it wise  to enforce another deprivation? Whatever excuse I can muster, and despite hugs and other signs of affection, she will wonder about the missing cracker. Won't it be another blow to her psyche that is worse than any potential harm caused by one cracker?

Or is it my fear  that Calusa won't send  me birthday cards anymore?

Or both?

Ancient Mariner

Big Apple Snowstorm (Memoir)

We called Annie (AmbivaBlog) this morning to  find that she had the good sense to get her car back to her New Jersey garage the day before the storm, while she and J ride out the storm in their "penthouse".

This brings back the memory of a romantic night in NYC. Jean and I attended a meeting and we stayed at the Warwick Hotel. We got an extra night there because a snowstorm halted air transport. The next morning we walked the short distance to the Museum of Modern Art. All the outdoor statues were covered with fresh snow, and they were strikingly beautiful, more so than the day before the storm. We had to take a train to Philadelphia to get a flight back to Chicago.

For a midwestern clod, I have a lot of memories of NYC. Here are a few:

We got married there in the West End Temple on May 23, 1942. I was a PFC at Ft. Monmouth at the time. Our honeymoon was one night at Hampshire House on Central Park South. The next day found us  back on the train to Long Branch, through Perth Amboy. Reveille was at 5:30 Monday morning.

The first show I saw there was GIRL CRAZY, starring Ethel Merman. The ingenue was a youngster named Ginger Rogers. What a terrific show. Embraceable You & Co.

In the late 1920s I visited a friend there named Michael Ford Myer, whose parents had trouble deciding whether to have a kid or buy a car. We were 10 or 11 years old. We tried smoking cigars in an alley. Bletch. We spent most of one day rideing the subway for one nickel. Mickey knew all the stops where you could change without paying another nickel.

One day when I was in college I came by train into Penn Station and went down to the subway. There was only the ticket taker and a cop there. I asked a whole lot of questions. As I walked away I heard the ticket guy tell the cop: "This same stupid bastard was here yesterday asking the same stupid questions." I was a coward. I never went back to challenge him.

Jean's sister and brother-in-law, Darlene and Berny Geis, lived on the upper east side. We had many wonderful visits with them. One rainy afternoon when I was in town alone, I got on a subway at rush hour. We were really packed in. When I got to my stop I found that a button on my jacket was attached to a very near-by lady's umbrella. After brief mutual accusations, I pulled shaply away, ripping off the button and escaping the train. Darlene replaced the button.

Dear friend Grant Adams, a kid from my neighborhood in Winnetka, became Executive Director of the United Hospital Fund of New York. Among other things, we were fishing buddies in Montauk, Ft. Myers Beach, the Keys and once in the Bahamas. On our last visit in his office, he handed me the title to Baby Doll, his 13' 1962 Boston Whaler. He knew he was dying of cancer. Jean and I  still chase snook, sea trout, and redfish in Baby Doll.

I saw Carl Erskine strike out 14 New York Yankees in a World Series game at Ebbets Field.

Ah, such memories a snowstorm brings.

Ancient Mariner

HERM

We allegedly attended each other's 1st birthday parties in the year 1919 because we lived only two blocks apart in Winnetka, Illinois, and were the best of friends ever after.

We skipped second grade together and never learned to write decent script. We fought on the grounds of the Hubbard Woods school until our 4th grade teacher separated us. We took piano lessons from Sophie Seligman,  climaxed by a recital where we played together, along with Mickey Mayer, what became known as the  "Concerto for Six Dirty Hands." The unlucky composer is unknown.  In junior high at Skokie School the art teacher, Miss Gahan, told us seperately that we were impossible art students. We did well enough at New Trier High School to get into good colleges. We were confirmed at the North Shore Congregation Israel. His confirmation speech title was "Israel, Greece, and Rome."

It was sometime in our youth when we started calling each other HERM, but we differed on how this got starterd. I thought it was because Gracie Allen had a dog called HERM. He thought the name referred to a neighbor, Herman Felsenthal, who used to chase us on Halloween when we performed minor indiscretions on his property.

While Herm's real name was Edward W. Rosenheim, he was called Ned. He was intensely devoted to the University of Chicago, where he was a professor of English for many decades. I remember auditing one of his classes early in his career. He was teaching John Steinbeck's "Grapes of Wrath" that day and obviously enjoying it. But his specialty was Jonathan Swift and 18th Century English Literature. He was a wonderful teacher with a superb sense of humor. Mike Nichols wrote in a mamoir how much Ned Rosenheim had influenced him. And there had to be many others.

He laughed heartily about his lack of athletic ability. He always played right filed because nobody ever hit the ball in that direction. So it was a wonder that he survived infantry basic training at Ft. Benning, Georgia, but he did. Once he got to Ft. Benjamin Harrison in Indiana, they never let him get away. He missed the 1942 ceremony in New York when I got married to Jean Stern because he couldn't get leave. But Jean and I attended his marriage in New York to Peggy Keeney, shortly after the war's end. That was the last time I rented a tuxedo.

We became neighbors again in the Hyde Park area of Chicago, where the university is located. He and Peg raised three sterling sons, and after the kids were grown we lived in adjacent apartment buildings on Dorchester Avenue, so we saw a lot of each other.

Old age was not kind to his body. He had terrible back pains for many years which severely limited his mobility. He lost the use of his right foot which rendered him unable to drive a car. But he remained merry and upbeat all the way. We helped once by driving them back to Chicago from their summer home in Pentwater, Michigan.

When it became time for Peg and Herm to move to a retirement home, his kids persuaded them to move from Chicago to San Francisco, where son Dan lives. Since Jimmy lives in Texas and Andy in England, Chicago was pretty remote in case of emergencies.

Jean and I went to California this past August, with one of the main motivations being to visit Herm and Peg. They put us up for a night in the guest quarters of their retirement home, located fittingly on Thomas More Way in San Francisco. He was in a wheelchair but full of lore, love, and laughter.  When we left we told each other that this was probably be the last time we'd see him.

Whether near or far, we rarely missed a birthday phone call. Since I was four months older, he would call  me in January to wish me a happy one, and I would reassure him that it felt OK to move on to 62 or 78 or even 87, When I called him in May, he'd agree that it wasn't all bad, even when it was during last couple of years.

Jimmy called on Tuesday to report that his dad had passed away on Monday night. Real men don't cry, but I did and so did Jean. We talked to all of our kids and several grandchildren that day, since they loved him too.

The worst part of growing old is what happens to your friends. Especially this one.

I will miss those two-way birthday calls.

A.M.

FISHING

Jean and I have been married for 63 years, and we started fishing together (with many interruptions) almost that long ago. In early 1943 we rented a boat and went fishing in Tampa Bay and I remember an errant cast I made that soared up onto the Davis Causeway and hit a truck. Man, what a big fish!

About ten years later, after Jean's bout with polio, we went to Key West and fished with a guide named Lefty Regan. Jean caught a sailfish and I a wahoo and we ate a dolphin (not the porpoise kind) that was special. Then we stopped in Islamorada and caught bonefish with guide barefoot Rollie Hollenbeck. Superb fishing.

While we were entranced by the Florida keys, we decided to look for a vacation spot on the Gulf coast of Florida where there are great beaches for us and our (then) four kids. Jean had been advised to seek and spend time in warm weather to ease her polio-affected right leg.

So we found this sleepy little Estero Island, also known as Fort Myers Beach, in 1955.

Between the island and the mainland is a long, relatively narrow body of water called Estero Bay. It is full of birds and long ago a few alligators. We have now been fishing together  in Estero Bay for fifty years. For awhile we had a boat named the Blue Moose, but it got smashed into a coconut tree during Hurricane Donna. Later, in 1971, a beloved fishing friend named Grant Adams gave us his 13 foot Boston Whaler, shortly before he died of cancer. We kept its name furtively: Baby Doll. It was built in 1962 and probably would be much admired in the Whaler Museum.

Our favorite fish to pursue are snook, redfish, and sea trout. Once in awhile we are overmatched with a tarpon. We use 8  pound test line on a spinning rod, and Jean once fought a 80-90 pound tarpon for over four hours before losing it.

Don't tell anybody, but part of the deal we've made for fishing together is that she cleans and cooks the fish. I am responsible for running the boat and finding the fish. We now fish exclusively with jigs, and we flatten the barb on the hook. I've been asked if the color of the jig matters, and I reply that any color is OK provided that it is white.

Once, when Jean was elsewhere, I caught, cleaned, and baked a redfish. I burned my hand taking it out of the oven, and dropped the fish on the kitchen floor. It tasted delicious but a bit sandy.

Now that we are gomers, I seldom fish alone. But during a few solo trips many decades ago, I would take along an airline size bottle of Jack Daniels and toss it to a friendly porpoise that I called Dolph. Then we would converse for a little while, mostly discussing the miracle of life and the joy of spending much of it in beautiful Estero Bay. We also dwelt on the topics of maturing and aging with accompanying happiness and sadness. (No wonder she doesn't like me to fish alone).

The other day we were in the bay and a porpoise played around Baby Doll. It might have been Dolph Jr.

Of course there are fish stories galore in the family, because our kids and grandchildren have joined in the sport.

But the main event is fishing together. This fall Jean has a new left knee. It helps her fish without the pain which dogged her during the last couple of years. Now we always take our cell phone with us for emergencies when we fish in Estero Bay, but we don't take incoming calls.

A.M.

FAREWELL TO WILMA

We did manditorially evacuate our home on Ft. Myers Beach on Saturday October 22, and spent three nights in Mona's house in Ft. Myers. Wilma knocked out her power on Monday, but otherwise there was a lot of wind and rain but no serious damage in the vicinity. We read with candle and flashlight that night.

By Monday afternoon we were able to drive to the Beach and saw that our property was undamaged. There was no storm surge because the wind blew offshore during the worst of it. But the power was out.

On Tuesday we returned our rental car to the airport. Auto traffic was light, a good thing because most of the traffic lights were out. Then we drove our car out to the Beach to settle in.

Some of our friends interpreted the mandatory evacuation as voluntary, so they stayed without harm. Or power.

There are many heroes, but here are a few I want to mention:

MONA MOFFAT.  Anybody that houses and feeds guests for three days and nights deserves the croix du guerre. She was terrific.

CAROL JOHNSTON. She is friend living at the south end of FMB, and she had power on Tuesday night. Knowing us to be White Sox fans, she invited us to join her for the 3rd game of the world series. She didn't even throw us out before the game ended after 14 innings at about 2:15 a.m.

BERJ SAILIAN. He is our Canadian son-in-law who flew from Toronto with our daughter Dinny to help David Gottlieb restore his Naples housing development which had some nasty damage. Our power was restored Wednesday afternoon, but no cable TV. Berj was able to use a coat hanger to bring us the 4th and final game of this glorious world series.

We have been so very lucky.

A.M.

 

Waiting for Wilma

This is Friday night October 21, 2005, At this moment Hurricane Wilma is clobbering the Yucatan Peninsula with 140 mph winds and a huge storm surge. Having become friendly with people in that area, I am very concerned about the extent of their suffering. We, in Ft. Myers Beach, Florida are standing by, hoping for a lesser hit but fearing the worst.

Since this is a barrier island, we are subject to a Mandatory Evacuation on Saturday, effective at noon.  We will comply, and go to Mona's house in Ft. Myers, bless her.

Apparently the Mandatory part of a Mandatory Evacuation is subject to a host of interpretations. A couple of days ago we heard of one "go if you want to...". This is mandatory? The local one is subject to ssome questions, especially because even after evacuation you can come back to this island until the weather deteriorates. Here are several possible interpretations:

1. Get yo ass off this island by noon.

2. Start planning to get yo ass off this island at noon.

3. Evacuate, but come back at will.

4. Evacuate if you feel like it.

5. Have a good bowel movement.

We had the early bird special at Charley's tonight.  They will close Sunday and Monday. They usually operate 364 days per year, only closing during the Super Bowl. But what about the Saturday noon edict?

Seriously, I think local officials are doing their best under very difficult circumstances. There is no firm information yet as to when, where, and how strongly Wilma will hit in Southwest Florida. Some people who stayed on the Beach during Hurricane Charlie last year say that they would never do that again. Others who did leave and were not permitted to come back to their homes for five days say they wouldn't leave next time.

Mona has stocked up on food, and she is the best cook in southwest Florida. We will bring water, wine, Jack Daniels, Gatorade, and some other household items. Another Beach resident, Joanne Stanley, will also be there.

A.M.

The World Series

Last night the Chicago White Sox won the 2005 American League championship, and therefore qualified to play in the World Series for the first time since 1959. The last time the White Sox won a World Series was in 1917, just a few months before I was born, so I missed that one.

I will miss this one too in person. We will be in Ft. Myers Beach, Florida, and I told daughter Martha that no, even if tickets were miraculously found, I wouldn't come back to Chicago. But I strongly encouraged our family to seek tickets, and offered monetary assistance if they succeeded, because for real baseball fans, it can be a most memorable experience. Here are my memories of some World Series games that I attended in person (To get exact dates I referred to the Baseball Register).

10/8/29   Chcago Cubs vs Philadelphia Athletics.  I was 11 years old, and my dad took me to the opening game. Connie Mack had two super pitchers, Lefty Grove and George(?) Earnshaw. Which one would pitch the opener? Neither. A lesser light named Howard Ehmke got the call. All he did was strike out 13 Cubs, a World Series record, and he won the game. This series was notable for the 4th game played in Philly. The Cubs had an 8-0 lead going into the last of the 7th inning, when the As scored 10 runs. During that inning Cubs center fielder, Hack Wilson lost two fly balls in the sun. Allegedly one of them hit him on the head. Since there obviously was no TV, I cannot vouch for that. Wilson still owns the season record for RBIs. I think it is 193.

10/1/32  Chicago Cubs vs New York Yankees. Yes, the Babe did point generally toward deep center field before he hit that home run. I'm sure my 14-year-old eyes didn't deceive me. Lou Gehrig and Babe Ruth each hit 2 home runs that day, and one of Lou's shots hit the right field foul pole. Obviously, the Cubs lost both the game and the series. I hope dear Uncle Bill Gottlieb was with us that day.

10/9/38  Chicago Cubs vs New York Yankees.  This one was in Yankee Stadium. Somebody gave me a ride from Woods Hole to the Bronx, and I was standing in line before dawn to buy a ticket.  It wasn't much of a game. I did remember that Cub catcher Ken O'Dea homered, and the Register reportsd that so did Tommy Henrich of the Yankees, who won that series 4 games to zero.

10/8/45  Chicago Cubs vs Detroit Tigers.  A very special day. Jean and I came west by train from Ft. Monmouth, New Jersey for terminal leave from the U.S. Army. My parents met us at the train station, and dad, bless his heart, hands me his one ticket for the game and says he'll take care of Jean and any luggage, get yourself to Wrigley Field. The most interesting thing about this game was Cub 3rd-basemen Stanley Hack's game-winning hit in the 12th inning. It was originally called a single plus an error on left fielder Hank Greenberg. But later the scorer reversed and called it a double. Years later Bill Veeck told us he was responsible for the scoring change. He had worked for the Cubs when his father was a team executive, and was responsible for installing a sprinkler system. There was one faulty place in left field, and Hack's ball hit a pipe. He persuaded the scorer that the error was on him, not on Greenberg.

10/3/53  New York Yankees vs Brooklyn Dodgers.  I took my friend Gray Larkum to this game, and Bill Veeck of the St. Louis Browns furnished the tickets. The Dodgers won this game but not the series. What I remember best is that Carl Erskine of the Dodgers struck out 14 Yankees, breaking Ehmke's record set 24 years earlier, and I was present for both. (I think Koufax broke this record, but I missed that one.) The game was played in historic Ebbets Field.

10/1, 10/2, and 10/8/59. Chicago White Sox vs Los Angeles Dodgers.  During the first game Jean, 5 days prior to giving birth to David, hiked up to our great uppeer deck seats. She now claims that she threatened to give birth right then and there had not the White Sox won. But they did win, and big. Big Klu hit his two home runs, and Early Winn pitched superbly. Game 2, which lives on in my nightmares, featured a long double to left-center field by Al Smith. Sox catcher Sherman Lollar was on first base, and he chugged around the bases like he was wading through a sea of marshmellows. The relay was from left fielder Wally Moon to shortstop Maury Wills to catcher John Rosebore, who was having a beer and smoking a cigar while waiting to tag out Lollar. The 10/8 game was anti-climax. Early Winn just didn't have it this time. The Dodgers won the series, 4 games to 2. I recall that on the morning of the first game I received a phone call from Doug Kramer. "Linda is in labor. What shall I do?"

I sure hope that my kids and grandkids stumble into some tickets. It should be a blast! I will be rooting with you.

A.M.

My Role in the White Sox Triumph (so far)

Back in May I wrote a blog about shifting my 70-year allegiance from the White Sox to the Minnesota Twins, since we have have become devoted to the Twins Class A Ft. Myers Miracle. The White Sox were so incensed by this traitorous act that they determined to show this turncoat the error of his ways.

WOW!!

On October 1, 1959, Jean and I sat in the front row of the upper deck in Comiskey Park to watch Game 1 of the World Series against the Los Angeles Dodgers. Early Winn pitched superbly and Ted Kluszewski(sp?) hit two home runs in an 11-0 triumph. (Jean was so excited that she gave birth to David five days later). The Dodgers won the World Series, four games to two.

Fortty-six years later we watched (on TV) A.J. Pierzynski hit two home runs while Contreras pitched beautifully in a 14-2 skaughter of the Boston Red Sox in game one of the American League playoffs. With Polish Power and great pitching in each case, would this mean another collapse in subsequent games? No way! It was a beautiful bit of baseball, and game three featuring unbelieveable relief pitching by El Duque Hernandez,  caused nail-biting all the way up to the elbows.

I would like to think that my defection was a ploy to inspire the White Sox to greater things, but you and I know better. Let's go all the way!

   

Solving Traffic Gridlock and the Energy Crisis

Does anyone remember a very old movie entitled "Million Dollar Legs"? It took place in the kingdom of Klopstokia. The only actors whose names I remember are Jack Oakie and Ben Turpin. Klopstokia had a superb track team, including a mailman who took long cuts of many miles to keep his legs in shape. Crosseyed Turpin peered out from behind trees, probably a spy.

I only recently visited Klopstokia, somewhere in EurAsia, to file for a patent on this idea of mine. I figured that the U.S. patent office was too constipated to consider such an earthshaking idea, so the patent application has been filed yonder. While my family has known about my project for several years, I can now foist it on the public at large. Klopstokian officials could not have been more welcoming.

The idea is to develop a flatulence-powered autogyro.

Flatulence is a universal product that will survive long after fossil fuels are exhausted. To the best of my knowledge, it is now being entirely wasted. Think of the monumental effect on the world economy of storing, deodorizing, shipping, and building flatulence stations! Engineers will be heavily occupied in developing the autogyros at IBM( pun intended), General Motors, Toyota, and Cessna. A cadre of air traffic cops must be educated. Landscaped gyropads will replace many unsightly and dangerous parking lots.

Klopstokian officials have raised but one serious question before issuing patents that will permit us to proceed: autogyro fender-benders have a 94% fatality rate.

I will give you all advance notice when we decide to offer shares to the public.

A. M.